


The Wives' Club

by SheOfWrittings



Category: The Tudors (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Fuck the King, Modern AU, Wives be friends, but also happiness, i don't know how to tag help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 03:54:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13516044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheOfWrittings/pseuds/SheOfWrittings
Summary: Henry Tudor, now at the age of 49, proceeeds to have his fifth divorce,disposing of yet another young woman who failed to meet his expectations and turning his attention to another.Katherine Howard, young and resplandescent on the peak of her 20's, now humiliated and exposed in a twisted manner by her ex-husband to the world, finds the support to go on during those tempestuous times in those who wore her shoes before her.





	1. 『 The Prologue 』

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes my shot into a modern AU I had the idea for yesterday evening! Feedback is more than wanted and I hope you enjoy this small piece of writting!

 

 

 

 

 

> _Anne has changed the name of the group to “Fuck Henry Tudor”._
> 
> _Cat has changed the name of the group to “The Wives Club”._
> 
> _Anne has changed the name of the group to “Killjoy of Aragon”._
> 
> _Cleves has changed the name of the group to “The Wives Club”._
> 
>  
> 
> **Anne:** Good evening, ladies!
> 
> **Anne:** So, how will we set the date and time of this week's meeting?
> 
> **Cat:** This friday evening I won't be able to make it, lo siento.
> 
> **Cat:** Would Wednesday work?
> 
> **Anne:** Unfortunately, no.
> 
> **Anne:**  I will be having some of Bessy's friends here for a sleepover.
> 
> **Cat:** How many?
> 
> **Anne:** 7, God have mercy on my soul.
> 
> **Cat:** I'll be sure to add you to my prayers this week.
> 
> **Anne:** You don't usually pray for me?
> 
> **Anne:** I'm actually offended.
> 
> **Cleves:** Why don't we just go out in the weekend?
> 
> **Cleves:** Saturday or monday?
> 
> **Cleves:** Preferably saturday
> 
> **Cleves:** Like normal people would.
> 
> **Anne:** Forgive me for having an eight-year-old and being a slave to her babysitter’s schedules, Cleves, it was not my intention. 
> 
> **Anne:** But Bryan has said she’s free on Saturday.
> 
> **Cat:** Same place, same time?
> 
> **Cleves:** I'll call to book up our usual table.
> 
> **Anne:** You may want to add one more chair.
> 
> **Cleves:** Why?
> 
> _Anne sent a link._
> 
> **The Womaniser Saga**
> 
> Henry Tudor's newest divorce, this time to Katherine Howard, has been confirmed this morning by Tudor's secretary himself.
> 
> **Cat:** Dios mío
> 
> **Cat:** So soon? And so publicly?
> 
> **Cat:** Has this man no shame?
> 
> **Anne:** Truly, we should have learned he had no morals after our case, Katherine.
> 
> **Cleves:** I'll see if I can arrange us some more privacy.
> 
> **Cleves:** Anne, you're going to be the one to invite her?
> 
> **Anne:** I'm already on it.
> 
> **Anne:** My blood, my invitation.
> 
> **Cat:** Mary has texted me, she knows of the news.
> 
> **Cat:** Anne?
> 
> **Anne:** The news have reached here too.
> 
> **Anne:** Bessy is quite upset, but she'll live.
> 
> **Anne:** Is not like he killed the girl or anything, but she was the stepmother she was fondest the most.
> 
> **Cleves:** Rude.
> 
> **Anne:** Shush, at least she likes you more than Mary ever liked me.
> 
> **Cat:** Until Saturday, then?
> 
> **Cleves:** Yes.
> 
> **Anne:** Count me in, as always.
> 
> **Anne:** I'll keep you updated about our guest
> 
>  

──────•꧁꧂•──────

 

Katherine doubted if she had ever wanted anything more than to never get up from her bed again. Maybe she could be swallowed whole by the cushion and mattresses, be offered an easy way out from existence. Maybe it would all be a warm, white, comfortable oblivion in which her bad choices and her regrets were chased away by the soft fabric that wrapped her like a cocoon. That was not asking much, was it?

Her alarm ringed instead.

She groaned in contempt, erupting from under her covers, grabbing her phone and swiping right to have the hellish sound silenced. The grimace that took over her features had many reasons, all of them related to the notifications on the screen of her phone. Almost every single one of her social media was blowing up with mentions, retweets and news; every single person on the world was eager to jump on the case concerning her divorce with Henry and not all that eager to judge it kindly. Katherine should have known better when she allowed herself to be flaunted in front of him, she knew his way with his wives. Catherine, her own cousin, Anne of Cleves… The only one who was spared from such treatment was Jane Seymour, whose death had taken her before Henry could stain her image as he did with all others.

There was no text from Uncle Thomas, but that was hardly a surprise at that, he had used her while it suitedd him and now that she had nothing else to give, he had deserted her as quickly as he had helped her to win over that hideous man. Through the many texts, missed calls and futile attempts of journalists to contact her. Every single of them must be drooling, ready to attach one another for one mere intervie. She scoffed. Some friends showed support, other judgement, her aunt had send some enraged texts, but, all in all,there were no texts from Thomas and that broke her heart and brought bitter tears to her eyes.

She curles over her bed, deleting text message after text message, lips curling downwards in displeasure more and more as she did so. Then, it happened. Her fingers froze, her eyes widening at the name before she brought herself to open the messages she had been sent.

 

 

> [Hey, Kitty]
> 
> [I know we have not spoken much in the last few years and that I’ve failed to be kind to you many times before]
> 
> [But I know where you stand now, I have been there before]
> 
> [You don’t have to be on your own through this]
> 
> [If you don’t want to take my offer, I’ll respect your wishes, but if you do want some company, all you have to do is call]

She uncurled, pondering the kind words her cousin had sent her, dialling her number before she could stop herself, her phone now pressed to her ear as it called, biting down at her lip. Maybe that was a bad idea, maybe she hadn’t meant it, maybe she was busy, maybe-

“One moment, Mark. Hold that idea for me, don't you dare forget it- Hello?” The musical voice greeted cheerfully from the other side of the line.

She let the silence hang for a moment, her mouth dry.

She sounded so welcoming, so happy, cheerful, carefree. The warmth of her voice radiated through the phone and gave her the feeling that everything was going to be alright. Kitty could remember a time not that long ago when she sounded like that too. Had Henry drained her of that as well?

“Hey, Anne.”


	2. 『 Cousin Mine 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was not so easy now, she realised, thinking in such a cunning and calculating way, when you were the one being cut off.
> 
> Had Anne felt heartbroken like her when it was her who only heard her kin’s voices as they announced repeatedly that they were busy or unable to reach their phones, 'leave a message after the beep’? Probably. Probably not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, guys! Thank you so much for all the kuddos and for hitting this fic! I appreciate the chance you're giving my humble crazy idea, and even more the comments and bookmarks I've got with just one chapter!
> 
> I hope you keep enjoying the story and I promise to try to post at least two chapters a month!
> 
> Without further adieu, let's resume the story.

Anne Boleyn d’Ormonde took pride on her achievements, especially those that could not be credited off to her pig on ax-husband by those who had her in a lower steem than she would have wanted to.

At age 21 she had become Junior Ambassador to France, trailing on the steps of her father before her after 8 years of her life spent on the country, surrounded by the most important of political figures, having befriended the First Lady Margaret herself and had been happy with her job, exceeding in the 4 years she had worked on the diplomatic matters between the two countries. At age 26 she had birthed a girl with red hair and her eyes that had won over her heart since the first time she held her on her arms. At age 29, she had divorced Henry and, despite the unkind words, the rumours and the flocks of judgmental people, she had thrived, refusing to let her head to be anything but held high as a lesser woman might have. At age 31 she had reached out for Catherine and mad amends. At age 33, Anne of Cleves and her started texting each other. At age 34 she had proposed The Wives Club.

And now, at age 35, she hoped she could pride herself very soon in having helped her cousin to realise she should be proud of herself as well.

\- Elizabeth, sweetheart! - She called over her shoulder to the child on the second floor. - Come on, uncle George will be here to take you to school any minute now!

  
\- You shouldn’t have said that. - Mark’s amused voice said, a smile pulling at his lips that she reciprocated amusedly. - George's name is like having her feed three bags of sugar.

The distinct sound of a shriek of excitement of a 9 years old came accompanied with loud footsteps that trailed down the stairs until there was a giggling girl dressed neatly in her school uniform with a red hair wild and untamed like a lion’s mane that turned to the two adults with a smile that lacked a tooth before running to her mother, holding onto her mother’s hand.

\- Mom, can you braid my hair? Like Elsa’s? Pleeeease?

\- Why not like Anna’s? - Mark asked playfully as he sneaked from behind her, holding Elizabeth up, to her absolute delight, and spinning her around before just safely have her held in his arms, smiling up at her. - She has red hair, just like yours! And she’s such a brave little princess!

\- Anna is too worried about boys! - She said, crossing her arms and raising her chin in a petulant manner that Mark would never admit to her face, but reminded him a little too much of Anne. - They’re gross. I prefer to be a Queen.

\- Oh, is that so? - Mark gazed at Anne, raising a brow amusedly. - I see your point, then, Queen Elizabeth. I suppose having ice powers must be way more fun, anyways.

\- Very well, Your Majesty. - Anne said, laying down her cup of tea on the kitchen’s balcony, walking to the couch as she cleaned her hands on her jeans carelessly. The Boleyn grace to her moves shone as she took a seat, smiling widely in open invitation as she tapped the vacant seat by her side. - Let us begin. - Her daughter was quick to wiggle her way out the hold of Smeaton’s arms to seat herself in front of her mother, her back turned to Anne, wild and soft hair waiting for her experienced fingers to begin their work.

\- Elsa is the oldest sister, so Mary should be queen since she’s my older sister. - Elizabeth resumed her conversation with the dark haired man as her mother hummed, her fingers working their way through her daughter’s auburn strands, surprisingly absent of knots as they were before parting them in the three traditional locks. - But Mary has been babbling about boys for months now, so she has to be Anna and I get to be Elsa.

\- Older girls like boys, Bessie. - Anne started, lips curled fondly at the complains of her child.

\- Or other girls. - Mark interrupted her, from his spot across the room, leaned against the wall as he watched both of them. - If they fancy so.

\- And they like talking about them, especially with other girls that like them. - She resumed her words, flawlessly and unfazed as if she had never been cut off in the first place, only shooting a pointed look towards Smeaton before using her teeth to retrieve the bright blue with white glitter scrunchie of her right wrist, dark eyes once more focused on her child's hair. - One day when you get older you’ll understand.

Anne backed from her work, feeling rather proud of the flawless braid in front of her as well, heart warming as Elizabeth hopped of the couch to turn to her, with her crossed arms and her furrowed brows and her small pout as her defiant expression met the one with which she punctuated her arguments of as to why she should be allowed to eat more cookies than she was.

\- Then I don’t want to get older! I want to be 9 forever!

Anne smiles, tilting her head. Her hand meets her daughter's cheek, stroking it affectionately.

\- I want so too, sweetheart. - She said, leaning closer to kiss her forehead. - I love you, Elizabeth.

The child's features softened at once, her eyes shining with the same warmth as Anne's in response. Elizabeth stood at the tip of her toes and wrapped her arms around her mother's neck, feeling larger ones wrap her body in return as she laid her face against Anne's slender shoulders.

\- I love you too, mama.

Anne could have bet half of her money that her heart had just swollen so much it had to be at least three times bigger, kissing once again her daughter's scalp, one of her hands cradling her little head against her. The tenderness of the moment was short lived, however; as the doorbell rang, Elizabeth's eyes widened and she was once again fueled by her childish excitement.

\- Uncle George!

If such a scream of pure delight did not deafened them both, Mark thought to himself, nothing would. He took a seat by Anne's side, smiling at her as her child ran off to open the door for her uncle (and possibly favourite adult, if they were to be honest), causing Anne to look down at him and arch a brow.

\- What? - She asked, simply.

\- Can you braid my hair too? - He asks in a mockingly childish tone, tilting his head back, watching her upside down and leaning against her. - Pleaaaaaaaaase, Anne?

Anne scoffed, rolling her eyes, pushing him away with ease.

\- Fuck off, Smeaton. - His only reply to that was a hearty laugh.

\- Language! - An outcry of faux indignation came from the door, as a proud George marched in with Elizabeth thrown over his shoulders as he held her ankles, the erupting laughter filled the room. - We have fucking kids, here, for Christ's sake!

\- Yes, _maman,_ we have fucking kids here! - Elizabeth said in-between giggles.

The whole room held it's breath, both men's eyes turning to the dark haired woman with her widened eyes, shocked expression and slackened jaw. They could pinpoint the exact moment in which her exasperation turned into wrath; nostrils flaring slightly, eyes narrowing, her lips into a scowl.

\- George! - She growled as her younger brother fled in fear from the room with her daughter, mumbling numerous apologies in a row.

 

──────•꧁꧂•────── 

 

Katherine fumbled with her fingers nervously, pacing from one side too another of the hotel room, checking her cousin’s text from ten to ten minutes, brewing neurotic thoughts inside her mind. Oh, that was a bad idea, such a bad idea… She had married her cousin’s ex-husband, even after all she had seen him do to her. Worst of all, she had been the one to put an end to any communication that might have existed before between them when she married Henry, effectively blocking Anne and remaining in line with the mentality Uncle Thomas had preached to her when she was a child about casting off the then most newly divorced woman of their family. The more they dissociated from someone who had fallen of grace in such a way with Henry, the more they would be safe, sure to not be dragged down along with her.

It was not so easy now, she realised, thinking in such a cunning and calculating way, when you were the one being cut off.

Had Anne felt heartbroken like her when it was her who only heard her kin’s voices as they announced repeatedly that they were busy or unable to reach their phones, 'leave a message after the beep’? Probably. Probably not.

George had fallen of grace hand in hand with her. She and George and Mark Smeaton, Henry Norris and Francis Weston and Elizabeth. She had had her child, her siblings, watching calmly and quietly as Henry threw his name in the mud as he tried fervently to diminish hers.

He had most surely learned his lesson with his other wiser, more dignified wives, with the betters before her because, now, he was the one silent as he watched Kitty tore her reputation to pieces with every word she spoke.

The interphone rang. Anne had arrived. She authorized her to come up.

God had mercy on her for now on.

 

──────•꧁꧂•────── 

 

It hadn't been a bad idea. She decided that on the moment she opened her hotel door to see her cousin holding bags with clothes and shoes and makeup and all other possible things. She had also brought her some french delicacies, eclairs in the most part, and coffee, assuming quite correctly that she had not bothered to eat anything with her current mood. Most importantly, she had brought that warm liveliness that Kitty had heard through the phone. She smiled brightly and said her name as if they were old friends and not distant cousins that spoke so rarely she barely had any recollections of Anne through her life, and when she did, they were parties and family events and her marriage and divorce to Henry Tudor. Anne seemed to ignore all of that when she hugged her, kissing her cheek and inviting herself into the room.

She talked about everything, from George and his stupidness, to the incident of that morning and Mark Smeaton and how they were planning big things for her future. She talks about how the receptionist smelled like cheese and how her room was pretty and where she bought the shoes she was wearing. Anne waltzed in with all the carelessness if the world and that made Katherine forget about everything that was happening. Forget Katherine Howard and go back to being simply Kitty.

After she had eaten what Anne saw as a sufficient amount, her cousin shushed her to the bathroom and started giving her product after amazing product, claiming that today would be a 'girls’ day. Shampoos, conditioners, leave in's, rejuvenating creams, colorful SPA mascaras of all types to do all sort of things, perfumed oils… All of that just to be greeted by various pieces of the most fine clothing spread over her bed when she exited the bathroom.

Not even Henry had been that good at spoiling her.

Anne told her to pick one, dress up and sit in front of her so she could do her hair. Kitty did not find it in herself to protest and, if she had, she would have ignored it. Once dressed, she climbed the bed, sat with her back turned to Anne as she combed her honey colored strands. They resumed chatting and it eventually lead to the divorce situation. It wasn't as heavy as she thought it would be to touch on that subject with Anne around. Actually, Anne had quite what to say herself, with the contempt she seemed to bore towards the man.

It turned out, weirdly enough, that Henry had not changed that much. They figured that out trash talking him like there was no tomorrow and concluded that, in fact, he had only worsened with age, turning into some kind of distasteful vinegar that they had no interest in tasting ever again.

As of now, Anne said something especially funny about being lucky to be his second  wife, once she didn't got him as fat as he was now, inquiring how did she ever managed. That made Kitty laugh, her shoulders and chest shaking as she tried to stop laughing, one hand over her stomach, other over her lips, what earned her a soft reprimand from her cousin who was putting an incredible amount of concentration into braiding her hair. She said she was going to make her look amazing and, in her current situation, anything that could make her feel even close to amazing was more than welcome.

\- I hope you're aware I'll be doing your make up after this. - Anne hummed, pleased with herself at her own work, probably.

\- I do, yes. - Kitty replied, scoffing softly with a smile tugging her lips as she glanced down at the floral print of the dress Anne had bought her and to the perfectly manicured hands, also a courtesy from her cousin. - I definitely am overdone just for another afternoon in the hotel room.

\- You're not overdone because you're not staying at your hotel room.

Oh, no.

\- What do you mean? - She asked, tentatively and hesitant.

\- It means we're not staying here.

\- We're going out?

-Yes.

Oh, no. Oh, _fuck_. Oh, no. Oh, no no no nonono—

\- Anne, I can't go out there so soon! - She all but shrieked. She had been divorced for less than 24 hours! Less than a day! No. She couldn't, she wouldn't. - There are reporters everywhere, they all want a piece of me, they all want to force me to talk, I don't know what to do—

\- Simple. - She cut her in mid sentence, tying the end of her braid with a ribbon that only God knew where she had gotten before laying her comforting hands on her shoulders, inclining herself over one of her shoulders to gaze at her, those dark eyes shining with reassurement. - Don't do anything you don't want to. - Whispering like that, she made it sound simple. A smile crossed her lips, Kitty labeled it as an encouraging one. - No one can force you to do anything unless you allow them to, remember that.

Anne retreated, her hands leaving her shoulders to get the make up bag. Kitty turned to her like a lost child waiting instructions, her cousin's face was still warm and calm as she picked the primer and spread it over the soft skin of her face.

\- Where are we going? - Kitty asked, positively sure now that she was under a spell if that was what leaving her lips instead of protests.

\- We're going to lunch. - Anne declared, the happiness to her tone and to her features betraying that maybe, just maybe, she had not been expecting such immediate compliance and, as such, that was proof to her she was doing the right thing. She began to search for a foundation that matched her pale tone. - I figured you would rather if we did so alone, but if you want some company I can arrange it. I have my sister and a couple of friends who must be free by lunchtime. Or you could call some of your own friends. Tell them lunch will be on me.

For more that Anne's generosity kept on surprising Kitty time and time again, she pressed her lips together to not give her a bitter answer, with way more bite and rudeness than Anne deserved for all her kindness. ‘ _I don't have friends since yesterday, when the judge decided I and Henry are not married anymore.'_ was not what she would repay her with.

\- No. - She murmured, more to herself than to Anne. - I want it to be just you and me.

With her eyes cast downwards in shame, worry and a thousand more different negative feelings, Katherine didn't see her cousin's smile turn more gentle and endearing as she gazed upon her, tilting her head and musing over how young she was to be put through this.

\- Just me and you, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to comment and leave your kuddos! All feedback is appreciated!
> 
> I have also created a Twitter and a Tumblr for my AoO account so feel free to follow me and bother me there!  
> Tumblr: @OfWrittings  
> Twitter: @OfWrittings  
> What can we conclude: I'm not creative with @'s
> 
> See you all in Chapter 3!


	3. 『 Two of three Katherines 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two ways of walking out of a marriage with Henry Tudor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy... Was this chapter a ride to get out.
> 
> I'm truly sorry to all you faithful readers, but my Google Docs was screwing me over (so wascollege and life, for the matter), and it took the longest time to fix the problem. My frustration cannot e put on words, truly, but I hope you'll forgive me and enjoy the third chapter of The Wives' Club!

Catherine of Aragon was not young, not anymore, nearing her 57 years of life was just one more proof to add to the pile. She was not young, not like she had been, not like Anne Boleyn was or Jane Seymour had been, not like Anne of Cleves either, nor like Katherine Howard or whoever Henry would marry next. No, she was the first of a long line of wives, the first to be replaced and the first to be forgotten.

Still, nothing made her feel as old as gazing upon the face of her darling girl as she aged. Mary opened the door, smiling brightly and exclaiming a ' _Mamá_ ’ as she wrapped her arms around her and Katherine wondered how could her 26 years old daughter possibly still have so many of the mannerisms she had demonstrates at the early years of her teenagehood.

\- My Mary! - She would say back, just as happy, although very much more contained, her arms tightly wrapping her daughter in a hug before pulling back to look upon her face and kiss her between the brows, lovingly. - Oh, how've I missed you.

\- I missed you too, _mamá_. - Mary said, her lips twisting up in a smile as her eyes sparkled and her hands held Catherine's tight and tugged at it softly. - Come on in.

She didn't have to say it twice.

Catherine had not been as lucky as Anne in regards of keeping her daughter after the divorce, mostly because Henry had made sure to bribe every single judge involved in their divorce. It came as no surprise when said divorce was amazingly favourable to her ex-husband and had left her with the bare minimum to not have public opinion once more side with his bother of an ex-wife. In the midst of Henry's victories was that Mary was to be raised by her father and her stepmother, her mother's visits only to take place under his approval.

With Anne, tho… Henry had taken for granted that he would be able to ruin Anne's image to the point that no judge would ever not side with him. He had won once, what would stop him from winning again? It was a bittersweet surprise to him and to herself when Anne's quiet and calm behaviour when faced with Henry's frantically passionate accusations won her the court’s partial favour and her redemption in the eyes of the public. Anne Boleyn walked out of that court house keeping Elizabeth (now proven to be his child with the DNA test more to shut his mouth than anything else, once no one really suspected she wasn't), the ownership of all the properties he had gifted her, with justice owning Henry to pay her Elizabeth's alimony and all other things he could possibly pay for and all but being carried by the crowds outside that, not long ago, were calling her a whore. When Henry spitting lies after lies to attempt to stain her image kept going, she simply pressed charges against him for defamation and walked out victorious once again, leaving Henry to tear his hair off and to pay large amounts of money to her and the men he so evidence-lessly accused of sleeping with her, with the notable exception of Brereton, whom she also pressed charges against.

Sometimes, Catherine wondered either or not Anne was a force of nature trapping itself in a human body just for the fun of it. The thrill of looking down at men with those dark eyes and silently dare all their kind, the “Who's next?” hanging in the air. Sometimes, she wished she was more like Anne, a seductress that did not need to shed even one layer of clothing to win over another woman's husband, who jumped at her cousin's aid without a second thought, who was the glue that kept the club together, smiling, bright, warm, fun, young.

Most times, Catherine was a sensible woman tho, and wanted to be none other than herself, the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella and mother of Mary. She was acutely aware of all her flaws and Proud, smart, strong willed, accomplished, a political woman, heiress to one of the biggest companies in Spain and their ambassador in England. That woman sounded as much of a force of nature as any other.

Catherine sat on the couch, waiting patiently for her child to return from the kitchen with the tea and the biscuits she had most surely left prepared for both of them way before Cat had even the chance to get out of her own house, admiring the decorations of Mary's living room. Sometimes it felt alien to her still that she and her daughter were so easily reachable one for another. For three years she had not seen her, having to resort to obtaining news of her by people like Charles Brandon and Eustace Chapuys, text messages of a cell phone that had been sneaked in and that Mary had to carefully hide all times, exchanging secret notes between them through friends of Henry's that were deeply against the behaviour their friend had towards both of them, waiting and tip toeing until her daughter reached adulthood and didn't need any approval to meet with her.

Not just meet, no. On the morning of her 18th birthday she had her things packed and walked out her father's house, making her way to her mother's without a second thought. Henry was absolutely furious. Their convivence did not last long, however, mostly because those three years living with her father and his awful temper and Anne (one Catherine had not met— constantly stressed and insecure with Henry's treatment towards herself and her own daughter) had made Mary grow into a woman too acutely aware that she could not depend on anyone for longer than necessary, not even her mother. Her sweet girl had grown into a woman with aches for independence and recognition that did not wait long before getting accepted into the University of London, moving out to her own flat, having a boyfriend, becoming engaged, reconciling with her father and growing further and further away from that little girl who tried to use her heels and jewelry with a smile, hands extended her way, asking to be held.

Mary walked into the room that very moment, laying the golden tray on the tea table.

\- I'm so glad you could make it! - She said, taking a seat by her on the couch, pouring both of them cups of tea; hers with milk, her mother’s with honey. - I know my schedule lately isn't making us meeting any easier.

\- _Cariño_ , you are almost thirty now. - She says kindly, a hint of playfulness to her smile. - I’m aware that you have compromises of your own, I respect that. - A sip of the tea is taken before she goes on. - So, what did you had me cancel my plans on Friday for?

\- Oh! That. - Mary’s left foot was moved to behind her right leg.- Well…

\- _Maria_. - She said in a demanding tone, lowering her cup to the table, eye contact never breaking with her daughter as her blue eyes show her full well that if this conversation is to go on, she'll have her answers. - _¿Qué passa?_

\- I wanted to ask you to come along on a business party of Philip and I will be attending. - Her daughter says, quickly, her eyes averted downwards out of a respect she only bore towards her parents and her church— The only sentiment in her daughter's head and heart that could possibly outweigh her Tudor pride, that could bring her to bend her head. - They're always such so awfully boring. - Her shoulders slump, tiredly, as if she's caring the weight of the world in her back. - … And he always leaves me alone, off to talk business somewhere. - Catherine's red haired brows knitted together tightly at the words whispered by her daughter. - I want some company. - Mary's eyes shot up to her mother's face with a beggar's glim to it. - Can you come?

\- Of course, I can, _cariño_. - Philip seemed to needing a talk to, anyways, especially if he intended to be Mary's husband one day, about how not to follow suit on the steps of trails trailed by worser men. If politeness wouldn't do, maybe her 45% ownership of the family's business would. - Yet, I have the feeling you are not this— How do you say nowadays? Worked up?— over a simple party invitation.

Mary's eyes were downcast again. Bad news were surely in coming, she guessed.

\- Well… It is a business party. - Mary resumes, hesitance heavy on her voice. - There'll be businessmen, the most important in town, CEO’s and—  
\- Your father will be there. - Catherine cuts off her daughter once the realization hits her. Breathing is a very difficult thing all of sudden.

\- Yes. - Mary's voice is small and vulnerable all of sudden.

Catherine grits her teeth against the despair brewing in her chest. The Lord has never given anyone a temptation they could bear; a party won't be the thing to break her back. She smiles towards her daughter with all the reassurance lacking in her heart.

\- I need to use the bathroom. I'll be back soon.

No. Not Henry. Not him. So soon? Well, it wasn't so soon, years had past, but still…

She would need help from someone.

 

 

Catherine's lip curled upwards in a soft smile, despite her best judgement as she put her phone back into her purse, staring at herself in the mirror with somewhat of an encouraging smile before exiting the bathroom. Mary was still sat on her same spot on the couch, hands under her tights as she shot a gaze filled with some sort of guilt typical of one that realised what was asked of another a little too late to take it back.

\- I already bought my dress for the party, but I could manage some free time another day to go with you to choose one, if you'd like. - She offers, as her mother sits by her side.

\- Don't worry, _querida_. - Catherine reassured her, reaching for his hand and squeezing it softly. - I have someone on it already.

 

──────•꧁꧂•────── 

 

When Anne asked her if it would bother her if she made some calls after she returned from the bathroom to her cousin grinning brightly at some text messages, she was quick to say no, half-waiting the brunette to call one of the models, singers, debaters or political figures she would be so often featured in gossip columns with. All those handsome men with handsome faces and bodies and those handsome smiles that the media tried so desperately to prove were Anne Boleyn's newest flick but who seemed to have no ties that would back up such a theory.

She sat and observed, ready to see one of those romances play out in front of her, wondering how Anne must be with a lover. Did she worry if her voice was lovely enough, as Kitty had with Henry? Did she had one of those rehearsed perfect giggles that made laughter look adorable but were not nearly as genuine as one would think? Was she the seductress Henry had sworn to everyone she was? She was ready for answers to those questions that she had never asked herself before and that she only asked now because of her insecurities and her necessity to compare herself to everyone else, trying to look for the same flaws so she wouldn't feel as pathetic.

Instead what she witnessed was Anne calling two favors into light; one from her sister to watch over Elizabeth on the following day and the other for a stylist to have three hours of his day booked for her. No love talks, no scandalous names, no french words whispered in a playful manner.

_(She is not the woman Henry said she is)._

\- I'm so sorry. - Anne was quick to say, as soon as the last call was over, an apologetic smile decorating her face. - It didn't take too long, right? There was a friend asking for help and I just couldn't say no and I just kept you there with nothing to do— or eat, by the matter! - Her dark eyes quickly looked around the room, brows furrowing. - Where is our food? I'm positively sure we asked it over half a hour now. Do you want me to call the waiter? Where are our drinks? I'm calling the waiter.

Kitty had to blink a few times, trying to process all her cousin had spoken in such a little time.

\- Anne, it's okay, I'm sure our order will be here soon. - She said, reaching for her cousin's arm, laughter tied to her voice. - It's not that big of a deal.

\- Are you sure? - Anne's hand is still ready to rise through the air and call someone forth, determined to get what she wanted as always.

\- Yes. - This time, Kitty laughs truly, a bright smile crossing her lips. - Calm down.

\- I'm sorry. - Anne said once again, this time turning to her, her apologetic smile only reinforced by her guilty eyes. - Very well, what do you want to talk about while our orders are not here?

\- I… - Kitty wondered for a moment, she used to have much to say. Dresses, dances, trips, things to buy.. She didn’t knew what to talk about now. - Don't know...? What do you want to talk about?

\- This afternoon is about you, dear. You can talk of whatever you want.

\- Oh, well… How is Elizabeth?

\- You already asked me that thrice. - Anne said amusedly, resting her chin over one hand. - You ran out of things you can ask me about.

\- Well, why don't you ask me something instead? - Kitty dared, huffing slightly before retreating her hands.

\- If you give me the green light, I will.

\- Consider it given.

\- Do you love Thomas?

All of Katherine's face heated up at once, in a blaze so great she was mildly scared of appearing as red as the flowers on their tables.

\- Anne!

\- What? You gave me the green light.

\- I know, I know!

\- So?

\- Yes. I do.

\- Does he feel the same?

\- Yes. I… I think so at least.

\- And did your notable scandal shook the love between you two?

  
\- He… hasn't talked to me since it all hit the vent. - Katherine said, her voice as small as she felt at the moment, her eyes threatening to flood with tears. She blinked them away as hard as she could, she had cried enough on her own to allow herself to break into tears in public. - I don’t care if he no longer wants to be with me, but he could at least have said something.

  
\- Oh, that's no good. - Anne murmured, her face suddenly more serious and somber than she had ever seen as she tapped one of her nails against the desk, seemingly concentrated as one of those big strategists you would see on movies, crafting planes in their heads. - I will have a word with him. - She declared, suddenly, leaning back on her seat without as much as a second’s doubt before her smile broke out in her face again. - Oh, look! Our food is here!

She was not the woman Henry told her she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! Did you enjoy seeing another of Henry's children come to life in this story? Which mother-daughter relationship tugged at your heartstrings the most? Are y'all ready for the CoA x Anne Boleyn bromance (sismance)?
> 
> Also, shameless self-promotion: I've created another tumblr that's an ask blog focused on Henry VIII's wives, so... That'll be interesting. If you want to give it a chance, the tumblr is @askthesixwives! I will be waiting!
> 
> Anyways, lovelies, have a great day and I will see you next month!


	4. 『the calm before the storm - part 1』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anna tolerates Henry. Anne drives Catherine to meet an old friend.  
> Soemone comes pick Kitty up on the hotel.

Anna of Cleves had never been as prominent in English as her ex-husband might have wanted but, then, she did find that to be a redeeming grace of their relationship when you factored in the fact that it was her lack of mastership over the language that kept their conversations to the absolute minimal necessary in the brief period of their wedlock. Yet, she supposed that compared to her predecessors, Anna was the one who had fared the better, no doubt about it. Henry had been an ass, yes, but they had maintained some amiability during the whole of their relationship, going as far as have him treat her like a sister after their divorce.

 

It was her being his “sister” that brought her to that heinous restaurant, in fact, having been invited for lunch, which she only could assume was born of Henry's need to vent to someone about his newest divorce. Someone who wouldn't kiss up his ass like Charles Brandon or Oliver Cromwell, that is.

 

In his true late fashion, Henry comes in the restaurant 13 minutes later than what he said he would take to show up and 34 minutes later than what originally planned. His hairline is receding and the auburn hair is growing scarce. She also doesn't say it, but takes in with fair certainty that he has gained more weight in the last three weeks, and that his suit from Kitty's wedding must no longer fit. Middle age just doesn't suit him in the manner it does to Catherine.

 

Anna stands up, smiling as he comes to her, chubby arms already open for a hug and an apologetic smile to his lips.

 

\- Don't be mad at me, please. - He says, in that huffed voice of one who tires themselves half to death with one short walk. - The paparazzi are all over the place. They're like sharks out for blood.

 

\- Well, you do keep bleeding yourself, don't you? - She chides, playfully but with the hint of hard truth he needs to listen to from time to time. She sits back on her chair and he follows. - Your love life is the gossip of half a century now, _Heinri_. Everyone wants to know who'll be next. Thank you. - She says to the waiter that hands her the glass of wine she ordered. - And I suppose I'm going to be let on that information soon enough?

 

The man made a disheartened expression.

 

\- You do know I feel terrible every time I talk to you, right?

 

\- Well, you keep coming back, so it mustn't be that bad. - She says, smiling fondly at him before taking her glass to her lips for the inevitable rant that would follow.

 

\- Don't tell me you would vouch for me to forgive Kitty?! - He explodes, frowning through the levels of grease and fat under his skin, tinted itself with red and anger.- I thought you were on my side, Anna!

 

\- You didn’t mind at all when I forgave you for doing the same. - She cuts him, nonchalantly and in no way willing to feed into his delusion and victim mentality, arching a brow and daring him to prove her wrong. - I'm a neutral part. If you want to listen to someone who is on your side and will just say whatever soothes your ego best, then I firmly suggest you go back to Whitehall House.

 

There was a beat of silence as Henry’s left temple pulsed with a prominent vein, ruminating over her words and trying his hardest to rule over his anger.

 

\- What are you going to order then? - He says, half hissing and sounding way too much like a kid who’s been told no as he grabs the menu and hides his face behind it, angrily reading through the options.

 

Anna smirked and reached for her menu.

 

──────•꧁꧂•──────

 

As soon as she stepped outside, she was greeted by a hunk of a car’s horn, shooting a disapproving glance at the brunette who couldn't be less bothered from the driver's seat of her wine BMW.

\- Get in, loser, we’re going shopping. - Anne says, smirking amusedly as she approaches her, lowering her sunglasses to better inspect the outfit Catherine was wearing. - Damn, Aragon. Why do you always use those missionary clothes when you own stuff like this?

 

\- So I don't make you jealous. - It's all the Spanish woman says as she hops up on the passenger's seat only to be wrapped by the woman's arms. - Yes, yes, I missed you too, Anne. - She says, patting her back playfully. - Was that a Mean Girls reference?

 

\- Yes! - Anne cheered, kissing her friend's cheek despite the complaining of said friend before pulling back only to clap excitedly. - My mission of giving you some sense of pop culture is being successful! You have to let me over again one of these days, we still have at least 5 movies before you can start getting the basic of my references.

 

\- Anne, with all due respect, this is not top priority right now—

 

\- Yes, sorry, yes. - Anne said, shaking her head as if to clear it of any distractions. - First we make you look bomb than we crush Henry under your beauty then we watch movies that will make you understand what me and Jane keep babbling up about.

 

\- Sounds like a plan. - The older woman agreed with a short nod of her head as her friend started to drive in silence to wherever it was her top stylist humble abode.

 

The silence was nice, for the four minutes it lasted.

 

\-  Can you believe Culpepper has not talked with Kitty until now? - Anne asked, with such a indignated fury that Catherine knew it was meant to be taken with full offense.

 

\- Who?

 

\- Thomas Culpepper. - Anne clarified, leaning towards Catherine, drawing her words as her voice took that mocking scandalous tone she used so frequently and that did not fail in making the spanish woman’s blue eyes roll. - Kitty's _lover_.

 

\- But weren't they in love? That's what her interviews led me to believe.

 

\- She says they're, but he mustn't be that much in love if he would let her go through this alone. - Boleyn lips turn downwards,in that easy that only one corner shows their disapproval while the other seems to show how unimpressed she is. - None of my supposed lovers failed in supporting me even though they weren't lovers at all. I've called forth some favours, tho, I'll have a talk with him.

 

It was Catherine's time to arch a brow at Anne's direction (which the later obviously ignored). Be what might be, there was nothing as unpredictable and, as such, as scary as hearing Anne say ‘called for favours’ and 'have a talk’, in that particular order.

 

The poor boy was in for a ride.

 

Much like another one she knew, in fact.

 

\- Speaking about talks, I do have to have one with Philip as well. - Catherine says, taking in the same serious-and-pissed tone Anne had been using, frowning slightly.

 

\- Mary's fiance? Why? What got him in the dog house?

 

\- His negligence to my daughter, for one.

 

\- Huh... Never liked him anyways. - Anne goes on, twisting her lips with her uncontained distaste. - I was cheering for Cleves’ nephew, actually. He being your nephew and she your daughter isn't that a bit... incestuous?

 

\- I married my dead fiance's brother. - The Spanish woman say, shrugging as she looks over to the brunette. - I couldn't exactly criticise her.

 

\- True. But what's with Mary and only dating Philips? It's a kink kinda thing or a coincidence?

 

Two years ago she’d have been red faced with anger and embarrassment all at once at the scandalous question Anne slid over ever so casually, but, by now, she had already grown out quite a tolerance to the woman and all the blasphemous things that could come out of her mouth.

 

\- How would I know? - Is her answer, one to cut that particular ramification of the subject short.

 

\- But how is Mary, anyways? - The other goes on, picking up on the cue given to turn the subject as swiftly as she turned the car to a street where the houses got obnoxiously fancy. - Still very much hating me, I presume.

 

\- She thinks you’re a vagabond and very much dislikes the idea of me being friends with you. - Catherine says, shrugging softly. - But she doesn’t really speak this out loud anymore, since I cut her off by the twenty fourth rant.

 

\- You defended my honour against your child? I’m touched. But please tell me she didn’t really use the term “vagabond”, we’re not in the 16th century.

 

\- Vagabond is more an 18th kind of term, I think.

  
\- Whatever you say, Cat. - Anne says, parking up ready to some fancy looking glass building with _Horsman’s_ written in black and gold on the front of the building. - Let’s get you in and let’s introduce you to Margery.

 

──────•꧁꧂•──────

 

Kitty waited impatiently, walking from one side to the other on her hotel room, glancing nervously from the door to the bags now closed and ready for her to move away once more. Maybe for the last time in a while.

 

All her shoes were packed? Yes. Did she take all her things from the bathroom? Yes, apparently. What about her clothes? What time was the check-out planned for anyways?

Did she got the time for pick up wrong? Weren’t the paparazzi still downstairs, waiting for a glimpse of her? Fuck.

 

Her phone did not give any sign of buzzling anytime soon and she was about to call when two soft knocks were heard on her door.

 

\- Hey, Aunt Kitty! - The redhead girl smiles brightly, handing her a small purple flower. - Ready to go?

 

 

.


	5. 『the calm before the storm - part 2』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two people by Kitty's side during the hell of her marriage give her some much needed support.
> 
> Anne's friend (?) does not rub Catherine right, but then again, neither does what Anne confesses.
> 
> Anna is almost done with the headache that is Henry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those following me on tumblr, behold! I'm keeping my word about uppdates!
> 
> The next one will probably come in two weeks time, and it will feature very heavily my favouriteromantic trio! Be on the hold!

\- Elizabeth...? What are you doing her— Kitty is cut off halfway through trying to make sense of how the little girl managed to just show up in front of her by an urgent not-quite-scream-but-getting-there.

 

\- _Elizabeth!_ \- Jane’s voice carried through the hallway and as Kitty leaned out of her door frame to get a glimpse of the disapproving look on the blonde woman she has as a close friend, Elizabeth shot up with guilt and alarm and ran into her bedroom to hide behind her… What was she, anyway? Ex-stepmom? Second cousin? - Oh, no, you don’t hide behind her! And no doe eyes either, miss! You can’t just run ahead and get in an elevator by yourself in a place you don’t know!

 

\- I just wanted to see her! It’s been weeks! - The little girl argues in a whiny tone, hands holding onto Katherine’s skirts as if she was afraid someone would rip her away (to which she instinctively put a reassuring arm around her shoulders) as a pout grazes her lips.

 

Jane hesitates for a moment, looking torn in between giving the girl a pass for the imprudent behavior given the circumstances and shaking her shoulders a couple of times for getting her worried sick. Instead she merely sighs, an understanding and fond look balancing her stern expression as she points at Elizabeth warningly.

 

\- I’m not telling your mom... - Brown eyes light up. - But you’re not getting candy either. - And now she's pouting more, arms crossed as she resigns to her punishment. Finally Jane's eyes come to her face, relivied and happy in equal measures she checks her up and down, as if taking in damage that wasn't there before. She can see a logbook in the back of her friend's mind as she takes in the invisible weight to her shoulders, the posture absent of her confidence and the tiredness to her face. Honestly, that only makes her feel worse. That was, until Jane smiled, bright and amused as if the whole of their situation was an internal joke that not even Kitty could help but smiling at as well.  - Well, I see Anne got the dirty work done. I was expecting a depressed girl in some disheveled clothes crying on the beed with some junk food.

 

\- The Fudge chocolate ice cream ended, pretty early on day one, so I had nothing to do but clean up. - She says, shrugging playfully as her lips tremble slightly. She’s been blinking rather rapidly now, as she feels tears forming on the back of her eyes. - You girls really don’t need to do the for me, really. It’s gonna be a bother and I really don’t deserve it.

 

\- Shut up, Kitty! You do! You really do! - Elizabeth protests, stepping to a side sos he can look at Katherine with such a stern expression to her childish features she could almost rival her father’s. - Mom is nicer than dad, she won’t yell at you unless you say bad words, and we have a room and I like you!

 

\- Lizzy, don’t tell people to shut up. - Jane chides, so softly everyone can see he doesn’t mean it. - The kid has a point tho, Katherine. Shut up.

 

Jane extends her arms invitingly, nodding her head as she beckons her to come closer. Katherine more than eagerly goes, hugging her tightly trying not to sniff as the tears fall from her eyes. When she feels Elizabeth’s tiny arms hugging her side though, she knows she’s done for, sobbing as she lets herself cry freely in front of the only two allies she had back in Hampton.

 

\- There, there… - Jane’s soothing voice comes reassuringly, running her hands up and down her back before she kisses the top of her head. - You’re okay. We got you, Kitty. We got you.

 

They spent a couple months were spent this way, Katherine crying and the both of them hugging her as Jane fantasized a thousand and one manner to cut off Henry’s littlest of little dicks for some vindication. When the girl decided she had had enough crying she took a breath and let Jane dry her tears before doing her best to smile.

 

\- Thank you. - She said, turning to hold Bessie’s hand as well. - And thank you too.

 

\- You’re welcome. - The child replies, ever the sunshine.

 

\- Come on, you two. - Jane beckons, walking into Katherine’s hotel room. - Let’s get your bags and let get you home.

 

──────•꧁꧂•──────

 

Catherine believed she was not wrong on her assessments when she says that Anne and Miss Horsman spent the first 10 minutes after they walked into the (absurdly luxurious) boutique chatting with each other in circles with voices so high pitched with excitement they sounded like teenagers, and the 14-years-old kind. The conversation went round and round with the same lines and with excessive amounts of hugs and holding of hands and compliments in the middle and outcries of joy. She is positively sure Anne has forgotten her and that this Margery didn’t even notice her coming in.

 

A brief recount of the conversation would be: ‘Well, well, if it isn’t Madame du Boulan!!’ ‘And if this isn’t the british second coming of Coco Chanel! Alexander McQueen, watch out, she’s coming for you!’ ‘You flatterer!’ ‘I have to pay back for you flattering me with your clothes!’ ‘Oh, stop that. You look gorgeous in a sack of potatoes.’ ‘If it’s stitched by you, the sack of potatoes would look like a queen’s outfit.’ ‘Oh, stop. How is Elizabeth? And Mark? I heard about the album, by the way! Tell me all about it!’

 

Catherine arched an auburn brow, curiosity setting in at the mention of an album with Mark Smeaton. Damn her indiscretion when it came to gossips, though, she leaned a little too much forward to pay attention, taking a step and a half forward as she pretended to observe a pink dress that was obviously too much not her style to fool Anne, whose brown keen eyes snapped back to her with a hint of playful reproval.

 

\- I’m so sorry, Cat! - She says, smiling bright and charming as she takes one step back from her friend to beckon Catherine closer. - Margery, I believe you know—

 

\- Catarina de Aragon? - Margery cut her off, stepping closer, intrigued and interested. - Impossible not to. You didn’t tell me you two had become friends, Anne.

 

\- It’s Chaterine, actually. - The spanish woman corrected, extending her hand politely. - Nice to meet you.

 

\- Oh, yes, yes, I’m sorry. - She apologizes, but there is something calculating and assessing to her eyes that remembered her of Anne but with nothing of her amicable front. - You changed your name when you married your first husband didn’t you?

 

The _absolute nerve_ — A vein most certainly popped on her temple and she held back not to glance at Anne with the most pissed look possible.

 

\- Now, now, Mag. - Anne stepped in, assertive through her levels of playfulness and warmth. - No need for that sharp tongue of yours. She’s a friend, close one at that. I called for that favour for the both of us, and I will have it for the both us, no turning back now.

 

Margery looked up at Anne with a pout, looking as if a kid trying to conveine she was only having fun before sighing slightly, mumbling a ‘You’re no fun’ under her breath before cheering herself up with a hop, as she turns from both of them and walks up the stairs placed in the middle of the ground level of the boutique.

 

\- Come on, then, both of you! If I’m about to dress up two of the most influential women of the country, I might as well dress them with the Royal Line. When is the party again?

 

\- Next week’s Saturday. - Catherine says, taking the opportunity of being out of the woman’s line of sight to look at Anne half-annoyed half-furious, gesturing towards the woman exasperatedly. ‘Are you serious? What’s up with her?’ she months.

 

Anne merely mumbled a soft ‘eh’, shrugging before making a vague gesture that implied ‘it’s fine’ at the same time she had given the girç the b treatment five seconds prior.

 

\- But we would like the dresses as soon as wednesday, to match jewelry, hair, shoes, makeup… You know the drill.

 

\- I most certainly do. - Margery’s voice echoes down the stairs, amusedly.

 

\- We? - Catherine asked hushedly, as she leaned over to Anne acusatorily. - Anne, don’t tell me that—

 

\- Don’t you know I’m a sucker for parties? - She says, in that playful manner she only resorts to when she knows she’s done something wrong and is in no way meaning to step back on her decision nevertheless. - Sorry. Not really tho. - She calls over her shoulders as she rushes up the stairs ahead of her to join Horsman. - Don’t lose your head before I can pay for your dress.

 

Mary was gonna eat her liver for that, but not before Catherine strangled the life out of Anne.

 

She stomped her way up the steps, thinking that the dress ought to be beautiful or she was gonna raise hell on Anne’s car.

 

──────•꧁꧂•──────

  


\- And then, not only did she _fuck my friend_ — a friend I _actually liked_ , no less! But she fucked her music teacher and an assistant whatever! She never told me anything about this!

 

\- She did not tell you about being sexually abused in her childhood, shocker. - Anna says, the wine loosening her sharp tongue almost as much as it’s inciting Henry’s fury. At this point, she really doesn’t care if she must be honest. It’s entretaining to see how quick his face can get red in the blink of an eye. Plus, he paid for the food and for the lovely potluck apple cake she was eating. - Plus, how many girls did you fuck while you were married?

 

\- Five! Only five! - She points - You’re not helping!

 

She snorted before breaking into a drunken fit of giggles, trying desperately to keep the words ‘I’m not trying to’ to herself as Henry fumed more and more, spilling some of his wine on his dress shirt.

 

\- I thought after Anne I would’ve learned, but no! I’m always marruing whores!

 

- _Damn fick dich auch_.¹

 

\- I feel like I’ll die one day and when I get to heaven I’ll find out JAne is not there because she cheated on me and I didn’t even knew!

 

\- _Würde das Mädchen richtig dienen, verdient niemand so einen kleinen Schwanz._ ²

 

\- Who knows?! Maybe Kate is fucking around too! Maybe I’m already being cheated on before I can even propose or anything!

  


That puzzles her for a moment, trying to pinpoint the moment where Henry started calling Kitty ‘Kate’, remembering how she hated how old it made her feel.

 

\- She might be fucking with Thomas Seymour right now, who knows?

  
  
  


She wouldn’t fuck Thomas Seymour, the guy was a creep! Plus, he already the Parr girl all over him—

  
  


Wait.

  
  
  
  


She reaches for the wine bottle exasperatedly.

  


\- _Gott verdammt verdammt noch mal, Heinri.³_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wandering what Anna is babbling about:
> 
> ¹ "Fuck you too, then"  
> ² "Serves the girl right, no one deserves that small of a dick."  
> ³ "God fucking dammit, Henry."


End file.
